


Premature and Overdue

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation, Rorschach Has Issues, Sexual Dysfunction, Touch-Starved, Trust, adults using their words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rorschach has a problem with premature ejaculation because he doesn't get touched enough.  A very severe problem.  He takes steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Premature and Overdue

Of all the possible obstacles to bedding Rorschach, this was one Dan hadn't considered. "Seriously?" His partner nods miserably, his face as red as his hair, and Dan sighs, kissing the corner of his jaw. "I'm not mad." He nuzzles Rorschach's neck and he shudders, whimpering softly. "It's even kind of hot, but you really need to touch yourself more." 

The understatement of the fucking decade. Rorschach can come from Dan nibbling his ear, rubbing one nipple through his shirt, and on one memorable occasion, from _holding freaking hands._ Sometimes it's sexy, sometimes he wants to find out who's responsible for a man who essentially cannot bear pleasure and kill them. Usually it's both at once, but if he couldn't tolerate ambiguity he wouldn't be a mask. Or such a pervert.

"S-sorry." Rorschach murmurs, and Dan kisses him, wanting to erase the humiliation from his face.

"Hey, it's okay."

"Not okay."

"You just have to work on it, man. If you were more used to being touched, you wouldn't be having this problem."

"Don't... don't like to..."

"I bet you don't." He sighs, and hugs him tightly. "Just think about it."

And Rorschach does think about it, all the way down the tunnel later. The problem is that anything but Daniel feels decadent. For some reason his partner's touch feels as necessary as water. He stops in the dark and leans against the wall, conjuring him up like a ghost as he slides one hand into his pants like an ugly little redheaded kid playing with himself in the corner, a filthy, stupid little bastard doing something dirty because it's all he knows how to do. His stomach flips with revulsion, and he slaps himself hard across the face with his other hand. Pain feels right, so it's calming. 

He takes a deep breath and redirects his attentions to Daniel. To imagining his hand, heavy and warm where it has never dared to go. So gentle, always so gentle he can hardly stand it. He whines and bites his lip and feels like he'll die as it spins on forever only to finally drop him breathless and sticky back into his body. It's been no time at all, and he sighs. He has no choice, and wipes his hands with grim determination before marching off down the tunnel.

Silk boxers come first. He has always looked sidelong at them because they make him think of Ozymandias, but he has enough stuffed into his mattress to get three pairs. All black, because they don't make them in white and he won't wear red. Or purple. Or green or blue no matter how rich the shade. They are about as a horrible as he would have guessed. Incidence of lost of control spikes alarmingly, the silk mercilessly setting him off over and over as it slides across him. He washes them carefully by hand, a chair under the bathroom doorknob assuring a modicum of privacy no matter how much the junkie next door pounds and screams. 

Two weeks of torment and things are better. Particularly with his new habit of ducking into public restrooms like all the other deviants and touching himself. He knows that doing it with no time could serve to exacerbate his problem, and makes time at least every other day to stretch out on his mental hospital grade mattress, stare at the ceiling, and do his best to ignore his neighbors and think of Daniel. This is the hardest part, because he keeps his hands above the waist, and it feels like narcissism. It feels wrong and like a waste of time, but Daniel wants him to, and when he thinks of that and digs his nails into his skin it's hard to keep quiet.

He keeps track of it in a complex numerical code on the underside of the drawer in the cheap table by his bed. He steals two of Daniel's dirty shirts and watches his time decline sharply. Well, watches as best he can with his face buried in the pillow, biting it to keep from crying out as the scent overwhelms him. He's not really sure he wants to become numb to it anyway, and he knows Daniel is worried because he hasn't done more than kiss him before leaving in all this time. He's left notes. Letting him know that he's working on something and will be back soon. Soon might be now, with the moon rising Halloween orange and the wind whispering in his ears.

Nite Owl is changing back to Daniel Dreiberg when Rorschach finally catches up with him after running off more energy than any speed freak over the rooftops, leaping across chasms and flipping off of fire escapes. He feels like a fragment of the night, and Daniel looks at him like that just might be the truth.

"Rorschach." He smiles cautiously, and it breaks Walter's heart. He goes to his partner and kisses him hard through the mask, arms wrapped around his neck. Daniel gasps and clutches at the back of his coat and Walter growls, pulling back just enough to hook at thumb under his mask and lift it so so he can nuzzle Daniel's cheek, skin against skin.

"Missed you." He growls, and Daniel shivers.

"Y-yeah. Me too."

Walter doesn't point out the structural ambiguity, kissing Daniel again, with a hint of teeth that makes him whine. "Upstairs."

"Yes." It's hard to get to the stairs because neither of them actually wants to disegage, and they're a tangled, stumbling mess. Walter's coat hits the floor at the base of the stairs, his vest falls at the top. Daniel's shirt lands beside it, and the stagger into his room, falling onto the bed and clutching and clawing at each other, peeling off pinstriped trousers and faded jeans.

Rorschach's previous shyness seems to have disappeared, and if Dan didn't know his partner's mouth and movement so well, he'd think someone else had stolen the mask. He bites Dan's shoulders brutally, and he groans, amazed that Rorschach has made it this far. He cries out when one rough hand wraps around his cock, as much in surprise as pleasure. Rorschach bites his neck and he whimpers, almost afraid to touch him. They seem to have the same idea, Rorschach holding a little away from him as his hand moves. He's brutal and Dan vows to teach him better, but not now, whimpering and bucking into it. 

A breath away from coming, he clutches at Rorschach and is not repulsed, greedy hands sliding down his sides and grabbing his ass before reaching for his cock. The soft slide comes as a shock, and he almost laughs when he remembers that of course Rorschach is uncut, and then humor isn't really an option because he whines and fucks his grip desperately and for the first time ever Dan makes him come on purpose. He howls and takes Dan with him. It's kind of ridiculous that a frantic, too-rough handjob feels this fucking titanic, but Dan is deaf for a full minute, his ears ringing and his vision filled with colored sparks. Rorschach doesn't seem to be in any better shape, gasping like a landed trout.

"So." Dan finally says, squeezing his hand. "What were you working on?"

"This." Rorschach rasps, squeezing back and looking at the ceiling (as far as Dan can tell). "Wanted to have some endurance. Not be so pathetic."

"Buddy, it wouldn't matter to me if you never worked it out. I love you."

"Hurm." He sounds pleased, and rolls to snuggle into Dan's arms. "Likewise. Why I wanted to be better."

Dan grins, and kisses the top of his mask. "Baby, you're the best."

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost titled after the relevant Lonely Island song. You're welcome.


End file.
